Adaptations
by SpaxTheTurtleClogger
Summary: when disaster strikes in Allistor Kirkland's life, he finds himself one year later with a package at his door. He'll spend his days trying to make himself go on with a cheap replica of the woman he loves. Human (?) AU, Death, triggers. Yeah stuff. Way better inside.
1. PROLOGUE

_T_heir arguments were always over something irrelevant to prolonging their relationship—School, work, her adoration and extensive collection of knives, his constant need to drink and brawl at the pub. It never turned too serious, aside from the first few times they had fought, and when she was pregnant. Everything seemed to transgress into a sort of calm and quiet life after her only miscarriage, a part of her broken that he could not understand. Natalia was an emotional woman behind a façade of ice and hostility. She was bitter, though she could be too sweet, and she would always scowl, though the rare times she would smile, no one could look more radiant. That was Natalia's way. Allistor loved her immensely, each day spent working until midnight, coming home to curl in to a bed that was half-taken up by someone who was barely five feet and one inch tall. She would always be awake, waiting for him to come to the bed, just to fall asleep listening to him snore. It was, in a way, their routine.

Sunday evening at six forty-two, their routine was ignored as the younger blonde's voice broke in a snarling shout, fists curled up as she stared at the red-head with a blazing glare. He didn't know what to do; she was so angry and infuriated, but it wasn't entirely at him, but at herself, and Francis, and everyone—everyone but Allistor, who deserved it the most. He couldn't marry her, he was too frightened. He'd been married once before, but had been lied to and cheated on with men and women as if he were nothing. How could he repeat that? But Natalia, Natalia was different: Cheating did not exist in her world. Lies were meaningless. Fear was something she could not comprehend, and marriage was a dream she had held close since she was a young girl, watching a woman in her home town of Minsk smiling in her robes.  
"It's not you I'm angry at!" She finally managed to scream, fingers digging in to her thighs to keep herself as calm as she could manage, which only provided blood to bubble at the crescent shaped marks in her flesh. "If I was good enough, you wouldn't be afraid! If I was actually good for you, you'd forget everything that had happened. I'm obviously not doing my job to make you safe, comfortable, and happy, Allistor. So there's no reason for me to stay when someone could be doing what I _can't_." She said bluntly, though emerald eyes staring at her in horror was her only reply from the Scot. It was unbearable, it was a torture she couldn't remember having felt, the way he only looked at her like she were speaking nothing but madness. It made her even angrier than she already had been. "Good-bye then, Allistor." She said sternly, turning on her heel and gripping the golden door knob with a tight grip, the hinges almost breaking from how rough she opened it, and the bolts snapping from how violently she slammed it shut. The rain overhead drizzled down heavily, her nose breathing in the smells of the road she lived on, the old woman across the street shutting the blind to her living room shut. Natalia was sure Miss Gretzsky had been spying, but that didn't really bother her too much, since she would be moving somewhere new that night. Her feet clacked down the stone steps loudly, a hand pressing hair back from her face, though it was pointless, harsh winds blowing it back. There were no sounds but that of thunder rolling and the rain drops splattering against the pavement, her ears deaf to anything but the sound of nature, the sound of a storm she was half terrified of. That wouldn't deter her intent, though, to go back to her boss's home for the time being, having somewhere to be better than being stuck in a house where she wouldn't have felt desired anyway. A hefty sigh escaped her lips, her faltering senses blocking out the screams behind her from her house as she crossed the street.

_The sirens are so loud… Did someone get hurt?_ Her mind was groggy; her head ached in a pain she hadn't felt in quite some time… Since she'd been shot in the ribs, she was sure, while she protected her brother from a German intruder. Natalia lifted her head from the bed she'd been laying on, though the sudden movement made her gasp out—why couldn't she breathe so much?—Her head snapping back down. Her eyes opened instantaneously, a burning sensation going through her left half as she moved and tried to crane her head to see. It was pavement, not a bed. _Can't move my hands…_ she thought to herself, lips hardly moving at all. _Take another breath—from your lips, maybe you broke you nose._  
The command was dully carried out, a sickening gargle of a noise sounding as the air entered her lungs, along with numerous other things, she was sure. She managed to move her eyes back and forth, a vehicle of some sort of the left corner of her eye, and to the right were policemen and doctors and a man sobbing, his face staring at her in horror. He was her age, around six foot, with sandy blonde hair and a lock that stood on end oddly. He had squared off glasses, with bright blue eyes full of pain and fear and tears. He kept saying something, but she couldn't hear him at all—when did the rain stop?—and soon, Allistor stepped in her line of vision. He screamed something that sounded like "she's alive!" before he dropped to his knees, the vibration making her entire body shake in pain.  
"…Lis…" She gasped, the words forcing blood to spill from the gash in her throat. It was grotesque, the way he'd managed to mangle her up so horribly. She was so beautiful before this, and now here she was, half-dead on the black street, blood everywhere, her hair flung across her face and arm broken, half her ribcage ripped open and bleeding. Allistor could tell it wouldn't be an open casket. "Nat, hold on, a'right?" He said hurriedly, watching the men in the ambulance take out and set up a stretcher for the young lady lying in a pool of her own blood. He grabbed her hand tightly in his own, the wetness of her blood between his fingers making his stomach lurch.  
"I'm dying, aren't I?" Her mouth worded out slowly, lips trembling and stuttering, her voice no longer capable of being understood. She didn't wait for the reply from him, the paramedics came over and waved a hand in front of her face, her eyes glancing over to one before looking back to Allistor. He let go, letting the two man carefully pick Natalia up and set her down on the white linen.  
'I love you.' She worded lightly, offering a small upturn of her lips as he watched her be carried off.

She died five minutes before they got to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 1

The doctor told him life would go on, even if Natalia was not physically part of his world any more. He could have called him a fake, a fool, a liar… But that wouldn't have done any good. Natalia's presence was a physical as possible in the little room he stayed in from dawn until dusk, whiskey a constant in his life that kept him intoxicated just enough to stop breaking everything in the house. Every picture, every scrapbook, it was all sitting on the desk and hanging on the walls, whether the images were from her when she lived with her older brother and sister or when he would sneak pictures of her sleeping. Everything he could have to remember, sixty years from then, would be in that room right until someone came along and cleaned up the hanging memories after his death. He shook his head, removing the idea of dying just yet. Natalia would be so angry if she thought he was giving up on life so soon just because she was gone. Allistor cringed very visibly, remembering her death so vividly in his mind. He still could feel her blood moving between his fingers, and how it had smeared across his lips when he covered his face to cry that day. There were things he had loved about her, tastes he had loved—but the fact he knew what her blood tasted like, how iron-like it was, it made him queasy, but yet it calmed him. He knew so much more than what he should have, even if it meant the smell and taste of her blood as it dripped from her dying body, gushing from her throat and side and legs.  
Why couldn't he just his mind down from these wonderings he had of if she was in Heaven, or if Heaven even existed, or if she was watching him disappear and waste away in his own self-pity and self-loathing? Sometimes, though he knew it was pointless, he'd ask her to hold him at night, only to find disappointment and hatred in himself that she couldn't do it. He remembered asking her on the day of her funeral, when he stood at the alter to speak, if she would still have him as a husband, but when he realized no answer would come from a casket full of the crushed bones of the Russian he threw the alter aside, angry and terrified tears streaming down his cheeks.  
_Stop thinking. You can't take any more whiskey._ The demand was light hearted, though he did ignore his desire for another shot of the burning liquid and instead took the chance to stare the pictures stapled to the ceiling. In one, he noticed that she was staring at her feet—he held probably had said something she hadn't expected before then. In another she was managing to smile, the doctor in the background talking. It was when they found out they were going be the parents of a little girl. A third was when she was working in the kitchen to fix the counter top she'd accidentally cracked with a monkey wrench. These images were piled together over three years of a relationship, some from their first week together where she would shuffle awkwardly in front of his camera, or some from just days before the accident took place. It was his safe haven from the reality she wasn't alive anymore, and if this was all he could muster in his life, then that was fine. He didn't need anything aside from the small amount of food he ate, the whiskey in his hands and the memories in his heart. This was all Allistor could need anymore. It was all he would let in.

The doorbell rang loudly two rooms over at the front door, the Scottish man's hand freezing with a bottle at his lips. He waited patiently for the person to go away, though it rang a second, a third, a fourth, and finally an eleventh time before he stood slowly from his over-sized velvet lazyboy and walked in to the living room. Glancing out the peephole he saw a delivery man, looking anxious and nervous and a little worried. Allistor scratched his beard lightly before opening the door, his face wrinkled and hair wild, eyes squinting at the bright light the sun let in behind the young boy. The little brunette glanced up before holding out a pen and a clipboard, a request accept the delivery and confirm he was indeed Allistor Kirkland clipped to the front.  
"A package?" He commented, looking around to see the white mail truck with a blue letter engraved onto it sitting on the curb of the road. He looked back down to the shorter male, remembering how he was probably the same age as Natalia. He quickly signed the form and shoved it back into the boy's hands, before looking over at a three month old pack of cigars on the coffee table by the door, an old pair of keys (which he realized belonged to the red Ferrari in the drive way that Nat liked to drive) , and a lighter. He felt a sudden urge to vomit, grabbing a cigar and lighting it up then and there, watching the mail boy go inside his vehicle and open the back door. He had some sort of carrying device, and Allistor realized this package wasn't just a small bag like he thought it would be. It took the brunette a few minutes, probably twenty, before he finally got the box on the cart and wheeled it up to the front doorstep of the house. "Here you are, sir!" He chirped lightly, and Allistor realized his accent was Italian. New York was full of people from all over, wasn't it? "Thank ye, lad." He said with a gruff voice, grabbing the box and sitting it inside before tipping the little Italian, whose name tag read "Feliciano," and shutting the door. He stared, the dark circles under his eyes giving way to how little sleep he ever got anymore, and circled the box.  
"Alfred F. Jones? 'Ta fuck is that?" He mumbled to himself as he read the information on the side of the cardboard walls sitting in the dusty Victorian-styled living room. Heaving a sigh he grabbed a knife—the one he'd given her for her birthday, with the Celtic symbols inside—and sliced apart the masking tape, the walls crumbling and falling. Inside, his gift was wrapped firmly in white linen, making him stare curiously before slowly unwrapping the cloth from the top. He pulled away the safety pin at the very top, and threw it to the floor, carefully peeling a large layer away, only to stop moving, stop breathing. Underneath, he saw the same shade of blonde hair as Natalia had; it even smelled like her favorite Herbal Essences raspberry silk shampoo. Below that, two closed eyes were fitted with full, soft eyelashes that resembled the ones he had saw a few times matted together with tears. The nose was thin and long, a pair of soft lips beneath it that were the perfect space apart, and the same shade of plum pink as his lover's. He glanced around frantically, before tearing away the fabric in hopes that, despite the funeral, despite how torn up she had been, this man had found a way to recreate her—bring her back to him, if he could have Natalia back, he'd do everything to make it all right again! The ring in the black velvet box that sat on his end table next to him each day would be presented, he'd put the diamond ring on her finger, marry her that night, if he could have that chance. He looked at the body, the neck and shoulders the same creamy colored shade of skin like Natalia's. But aside from that, the rest of her was a metallic silver, blue veins underneath waiting to be activated to shine brightly. Attached to her wrist was a CD bag, which he took gingerly from her and looked inside.  
"Please watch!"  
Allistor stared momentarily, before slowly pushing the disk into the old DVD player that was still hooked up to the flat screen, X-Men: Wolverine still sitting in the tray until he took it out and replaced it with the poorly scribbled on DVD. The screen flashed to life, and the man who had hit Natalia stood on the screen, fidgeting with his suit collar lightly. He shuffled around for a moment, before sighing and calming down. "I know this probably isn't going to fix what I did, but I went to my boss who's high up in the American government and asked him to do me a favor. So I got a couple of people to make one of the rarest things in the world—this cyborg sort of robot thing will be able to be programmed to your desire. I made her look like your wife because I didn't think you would want her to look like some random woman that didn't mean anything to you. But I'm going to tell you how she works quickly, and then let you get to your job, Mr. Kirkland. All you have to do is remove the chest plate and you'll see and area with a small button. Press it and a computer screen will show with a list of personality traits will appear. Press whichever ones you desire, and then you'll be asked to type in her name." The young man sighed, looking down at his feet before looking back up, his voice quaking. "I know it doesn't forgive what I did. And I don't think this will make it any easier for you to get over her. But at least you'll have something close, right? Good day, Mr. Kirkland." The video cut, the DVD player screen reading 'END' in big bold green letters. Allistor replayed the video again, and again, and again—how was this even possible to do? How did he manage to make it look and smell and feel just like her? Had he known her? It didn't matter, he decided, before moving back to the box. It wasn't going to help him at all. It was sick and demented that Alfred thought he could just get away with killing Natalia by making a replica of her! Allistor slowly removed the chest plate, and pressed a calloused finger against the 'START' button. He slowly decided what would best resemble Natalia's brash, harsh, hostile, perfect, sweet, bitter, angry, anxious, and conceited personality, with her love of cardboard and random facts of knowledge, her sense of fashion and how she loved to insult others. After hours on hours of choosing and changing and erasing, his shaking fingers slowly typed: 'N' 'A' 'T' 'A' 'L' 'I' 'A' in to the keyboard. He sat quietly, mind swarming with thoughts of worry, of disgust at himself for trying to make this thing anything like the woman he had once held tightly in his arms.  
And he pressed 'START,' placed the chest plate back onto her, and watched as her blue-violet eyes shimmered to life.


	3. Chapter 2

_Before we head to the beginning of chapter 2, thank you for your review Box! u I do have a few odd and strange plans for Mr. Kirkland and his little robot, but I think the last chapters are what's going to screw everything over. xD I also happen to love this pairing and it's my OTP so I'm hurting my RP partner with it! Ouo _

* * *

The few lights that seemed to represent pressure points on the cold part of her body surged a neon electric blue, the color pouring in to the metallic veins like a type of blood pulsating under her skin. The machine stood still, an obvious booting process taking place. A light would flash across her eyes every few seconds, as if material or some sort of data was loading in her hard drive. Eventually, as naturally as a human, Natalia lifted her head and looked at Allistor, her face apathetic and emotionless. "Helloy, Allistor." The words were spoken in the same tone and pitch as Natalia's, shivers running up and down Allistor's spine feverishly until his eyes widened in pure disgust at how _pleased_ her voice had made him.  
"How do you have her voice?" He asked quietly, furry brow raised in horror and pleasure and so many other emotions he could not name.  
"My creator, Mr. Jones, heard very well the sound of this woman's screams. She would not cease for nearly five entire minutes. While she was slowly going unconscious he heard her continuously say meaningless things, such as 'the water bill is one-eighty-three' and 'that French bastard should die' and such. He spent almost the entire year recreating the voice from the constant nightmares he had listening to her scream." The machine said bluntly, hardly reacting as Allistor vomited onto the floor as the words left her mouth. _Nat would do that, too…_ he thought to himself before his stomach forced all the alcohol in his stomach out of him, acid and whiskey spilling to the floor in a messy puddle. The cyborg offered him no help, unlike the young woman that he knew for many years before her untimely death—she would have also made a snide remark about him cleaning the floors or replacing the wood. Her head turned to where he glared up at her, body poised and erect, yet she looked very human for something so robotic. He wiped his lips free of the left over liquids before he stood and patter her arm lightly, motioning for her to stand. "C'mon. Better get ye some clothes then." He grumbled, walking through the house to the only bedroom. He opened the mahogany brown door and entered the perfectly dusted and swept space gingerly, taking care not to disturb anything in the space. The creamy beige walls were decorated with old maps, black wooden book cases stored with volume upon volume of war strategies and poetic stories, some written by Natalia Arlvoskaya, some not. The heavy dresser which carried seven drawers worth of clothing stood to the right of the grand window, an overgrown backyard that had once been kept tidy and gardened with tulips and flax and hydrangea now full of weeds. Opening the old creaking doors he cringed, the smell of pressed lavender petals that were folded in to the creases of her clothing hit his nostrils like an invasion of privacy, his teeth sinking in to his bottom lip to keep back tears—even if it meant pouring his blood instead. He took out the undergarments that she wore the absolute least, her least favorite pair of slacks and of course, the sweater her elder sister Katyusha knitted for her two years ago that she never wore. Natalia had an issue with throwing things out, even if she absolutely despised them. He threw the clothes at the artificial woman and muttered a 'get dressed' as he waltzed out the room, door slamming behind him. The sudden silence and the fact he was even in that room sent a shudder up his spine, his lips quivering in a hazy dance of memories. She loved blue. Natalia didn't wear pink very often, though it looked wonderful on her. She had many black dresses, all used for a simple seduction of Allistor's senses—and she always succeeded, the slits just a seam too high for him to stop staring at, the sweet heart neckline just an inch too plunging for him to stop thinking of. He remembered that inside that room was everything he had once known—the garter belts and lace, the stockings and high heels, aprons, jeans, leggings, sweaters and dresses—everything that had at one point or another lead him to an inescapable desire for Natalia.  
"Allistor, I am clothed."  
He realized just how long he had sat on the floor in front of her bedroom, the door still closed. "Come here." He called, standing up and cracking his back as the woman exited in to the hall, braiding her hair freakishly precisely. He stared for only a mere second before walking further down to the guest bedroom, opening the door and waving an arm, giving her entrance. "This will be your room. I'll get you clothes at some point. I'm going to go to bed so stay in here and… Charge or somethin'." He ordered lightly, watching how she looked around. The walls were an off white with burgundy trim, bed covered in brown and tan sheets and blankets. Natalia had designed it.

Allistor sat in his recliner in the room full of her, the door shut and the blinds drawn closed. The smoke from his cigar hung thickly in the air as he lit another, the cherry burning brightly as he took a heavy drag. His eyes lids were heavy and the dark circles underneath made him look possibly thirty, though he was not tired. The alcohol and the smoke calmed his system, but his mind was swarming with the most perverse thoughts he could imagine. First came the touch of soft lips on his neck—almost as if he could truly feel them—gliding to the collar bone, only to harshly bite down. Hands would glide wherever she desired, whether it be to tug on his hair or to claw in to his shoulders. He couldn't deny the erotic thoughts and images, his hand slipping inside his boxers to the throbbing muscle in his pants. It had been one year, and it always felt as if she were murmuring the words in his ears, even though Allistor knew better. A hot breath trailed on his throat, making him jump from the chair. His emerald eyes darted around, frantic and frightened with a pale and pitiful hope in them. When no Natalia stood in his room, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach, his knees buckling under the weight of the despair in his chest. He curled up on the floor, hand pressed against his face to keep the little sobs from growing any louder.

* * *

"He was crying..." The words were soft as they were expressed, her face emotionless and yet somber as she stared at her creator. Her eyes resembled the woman's greatly, they were even as lifeless yet powerful as her's. Alfred gave a sigh, sitting on his floor on the other side of the screen and ran a hand through his sandy hair. the robotic creature noticed the wrinkles on his forehead now when he spoke to her, which had not been there one year ago when she was being put together. 'Natalia' worried over her creator, the way he seemed so focused on redeeming himself in some way after he ran over the female she was supposed to imitate. "It's going to take a long time to get everything I need, 'Natalia.' But have you gone through the house yet? Do you know anything about the situation?" The questions were rushed but shallow, no emotion behind them but pure angst. Offering a slow shake of her the blonde answered with a silent no, though her memory wandered back to the room Allistor had been sitting in for that long hour before his tears overtook him. "He jumped out of the chair. I could only hear, but my censors were going crazy in there."  
"Do you think...?"


End file.
